


If I Should Fall Behind

by MinilocIsland



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: 3+1 Things, Aged-Up Character(s), Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Pining, fancy dinner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 14:45:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinilocIsland/pseuds/MinilocIsland
Summary: The plan for tonight had been crystal clear.Stay close to his best friend, and steal her away if needed. Hold her hand through the ordeal of meeting Noora again for the first time in years.Then Even shows up – and suddenly, nothing goes the way it was supposed to.Or: 3 times Isak didn't know what to say to Even, and 1 time he did.For the "75 Dates in the Skam Universe" Challenge.





	If I Should Fall Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Soo, this got away from me xD – apparently a fun little date-side-fic for a challenge means a 15k pining fest (but I guess no one should be surprised, least of all me...).  
This is part of the 75 dates challenge, and the prompt was "fancy dinner".
> 
> The art for this fic was created by the incredibly talented LoveThem2121 – go show her some love and appreciation on her [tumblr](https://www.lovethem2121.tumblr.com)!  
One of the art pieces is a bit NSFW – it's at the very end of the fic, after the last paragraph, just FYI.
> 
> Many, many thanks to my darlings [modestytreehouse](https://www.modestytreehouse.tumblr.com) and [Immy](https://www.skamskada.tumblr.com) for reading this through and making it so much better. You're the best. <3
> 
> And now, without further ado – enjoy! I hope you'll all like it!

i.

When Eva stops in front of the hallway mirror, turning back to slip into the bathroom for the tenth time in as many minutes, Isak can’t keep from rolling his eyes. 

“Come on, we’re already late!”

He can hear Eva’s huff all the way out to where he’s standing on the inside of her front door, her hand coming up to adjust the bun on top of her head as she walks out the bathroom door and rolls her eyes back at him. “Easy for you to say. _ You’re _ not the one who has to face your secret highschool crush in half an hour.”

“Well. I wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for you.”

That part _ is _ true. 

Honestly, he’d much rather slouch in front of the TV with a bag of crisps right now, and Eva knows that fully well.

But, as it is, Vilde had fallen ill last night, and cancelling on your new boss’s fancy dinner last minute apparently isn’t an option.

Especially since, apparently, _ Noora _is going to be there.

Noora, who moved away to New York directly after Nissen and only has returned on a few occasions over the past ten years.

Noora, who now – according to Eva’s new boss who is somehow acquainted with Noora through past work events – is back in Oslo for good.

Noora, who’s never really left Eva’s and his drunken late-night conversations, and who’s always somehow come up whenever Eva’s broken it off with her hook-ups, Tinder dates, or attempts at longer relationships.

And, well, Isak has been through enough of those conversations that – after a good many promises on Eva’s end of returning the favour anytime if needed – he’d sighed on his end of the phone and reluctantly accepted to be her pity date for the night.

So, he’s been standing here in Eva’s hallway for at least half an hour, dressed in a fucking _ suit, _ tie and polished dress shoes and all, waiting for her just to get out here and grab her handbag so they can go and get this over with.

Rip off the band-aid, so to speak.

He uses the momentary pause while Eva slips on her black heels to adjust his curls in the mirror.

“Are _ you _ coming?” Eva’s teasing grin appears behind his reflected shoulder, and he bites his lip not to remind her about the last half hour. 

Tonight is kind of stressful for her, after all.

“It doesn’t hurt to look good, you know,” he says, casting a sideways glance at her through the mirror.

Eva’s grin widens. “That’s right. You never know who’ll be there, after all.”

“Right.” He rolls his eyes half-heartedly at her before flattening his curls once more. 

* * *

Turns out Eva wasn’t kidding about this dinner being a fancy one.

He’s barely been to Grefsen since he moved – or ran – away from home, but he’s fairly certain this particular house wasn’t here during his last visit. White concrete and glass verandas, three stories high, spread out across a neat garden with a splendid view of the fjord.

Eva chews her lip as she rings the bell, and he puts a hand on her arm.

When her boss – Håvard – opens the door, however, the usual glow is back on her face. And as he waves off Eva’s excuses for being late with a wide smile, takes their coats and ushers them into the dining room, she seems just as relaxed as usual.

Isak, however, isn’t fooled.

He tightens his grip on Eva’s arm as he casts a glance over the table and, at the far end of it, sees a familiar blonde curtain of hair framing Noora’s pale face, her red lipstick as bright as ever. 

He casts a look at Eva, sees her blink, bite her lip again, and swallow. 

And then, suddenly, her eyes widen, the panic on her face evident. He scrunches his forehead – she’s already laid eyes on Noora, so what might have prompted this? 

Then, he turns his gaze back toward the table, and understands.

Sees the tall, slender figure sitting beside Noora. The swoop of blonde hair, the sharp jaw. 

Hears his bright, booming laugh echo all the way to where he stands.

In the blink of an eye, he turns on his heel and darts out of sight around the corner, not caring if Håvard sees and wonders why.

“Isak!” Eva’s mouth is hanging open, and her hand grabs tight around his wrist as she follows him. “I swear I didn’t know – I had no idea –”

He tries to reply, but his heart seems to be stuck in his throat, beating away so fast that he barely can breathe.

“What the _ fuck,” _he finally manages, legs nearly giving way as he leans against the wall. “What the fuck is he doing here?” 

“Let’s get out of here,” Eva says rapidly. “Nobody saw us, I’ll call a cab, we’ll go home –”

He looks up at her. At her perfectly applied eyeliner, the rouge on her cheeks. The carefully messed up bun on top of her head.

“No. It’s okay.” He straightens his back, and swallows through the throbbing lump in his chest. “I’m not eighteen anymore. Let’s go back out there.”

* * *

Turns out Eva gets to keep her eyes trained on Isak during dinner, instead of the other way around.

This dinner also turns out, fancy as it might be, to be the highest form of torture Isak has ever experienced.

During the whole meal his mind knows nothing but Even, sitting ten seats away and halfway across from Isak, smiling and laughing and looking like a God in a black suit jacket and starch-white shirt. 

Fucking hell. 

Even had crossed his mind, of course, when he’d heard Noora was going to be here – but he’d brushed it off as ridiculous, a fantasy made up by his own messed-up head. Only because he knew exactly one other person who’d moved from Oslo to New York – what were the odds that Noora and Even would ever meet there?

Of course, _ if _ they’d run into each other they’d perhaps recognize one another, but it didn’t mean they’d have to strike up a friendship. Or start hanging out.

It definitely didn’t have to entail showing up as _ each other’s dates _ to a fancy dinner in Grefsen on a perfectly normal Friday in September.

Since Eva and he had already been late to arrive, and then even a little later because of his swift panic attack in the hallway, they’d missed out on the pre-dinner champagne and had to sit down to dinner right away. No time to walk around the table and introduce themselves to all the others. Only two seats left, opposite each other, at the nearest end of the table.

So, here he sits, picking at the food with his insides heaving.

Even has looked at him exactly twice so far.

First, as Håvard stood up at their end of the table to welcome everyone. Isak hadn’t torn his eyes off Even in time, and had been caught red-handed as Even had turned away from Noora and suddenly locked eyes with him.

If seeing Even from the side, fringe casually falling over his temple, had been enough to send his heart into overdrive – well, having Even’s gaze piercing him like _ that _ made it stop completely.

Even’s mouth forming into an _ o, _ eyes widening, cheeks flushing, and he looked every bit as embarrassed as Isak felt. 

No wonder.

And Isak still couldn’t look away.

It wasn’t until Håvard had spoken up that the spell had been broken and he’d been able to look away. Only to see Eva looking at him with concern, warmth, and something that most probably had been pity.

The second time, it had been Isak who’d caught Even watching _ him. _

Even had done his best to look away, but not quickly enough that Isak hadn’t caught him. As Even turned his attention to his plate, neck turning a little pink against his white shirt collar, Isak had allowed himself to look for exactly five seconds more.

Watched Even’s hands, his long, nimble fingers grabbing the fork, the tendons on the back of his wrist tensing as he cut his food.

Even’s profile in the setting sunlight from the large windows, lips just as full as he’d remembered them.

He can’t see Even’s eyelashes from this distance, but he’s sure they cast long shadows over the top of his cheekbones.

He forces himself to chew and swallow, to make small talk to Håvard on his right and to another co-worker of Eva’s on his left. Forces himself to smile as Eva’s gaze falls upon him once more.

The worst thing is that this is complete nonsense.

Nobody’s supposed to feel this way. 

Nobody’s supposed to stop functioning completely because of a guy they’d hooked up with exactly _ once. _ One single time, the night before Even left for New York the summer after he’d finished Nissen. 

_ Ten fucking years ago. _

Since then, he’s dated at least as many people as he can count on both hands, been in a few half-long relationships, and done more hook-ups than he can count.

It’s been fine. Really. 

His memory might very well have been playing him for the past ten years, of course. Raised it to this unattainable standard only because it had been his first time, overwhelming in the reality of finally getting what he’d fantasized about for so long.

Or, the fact that he’d been obsessing over Even ever since the first time he heard his laugh in the school cafeteria in second grade. Just like now, he’d only turned his head and – there he’d been. As if he’d been sitting there with his long legs on the table all his life, just waiting for Isak to catch sight of him.

If Even hadn’t had a girlfriend at the time, _ maybe _ he’d dared to do more than just look.

But he’d looked, alright. 

And when Even, through someone in his Spanish class who sold weed to Jonas, became part of their friend group a couple of months later, Isak had upgraded to active pining.

Being Even’s friend was simultaneously the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to him. 

Jonas had been there for him through a lot, that’s true, and the things he’d done to get his attention still made him want to curl in on himself sometimes – but what he felt for Even had wiped out any lingering romantic affection for his best friend without a trace.

It wasn’t only that Even was funny, or kind, or considerate, but also that he seemed to really _ get _ Isak. Like he could look straight into Isak’s brain and see everything in there for what it was. As if there was some sort of bond between them, something that none of the others knew about or understood. Something in the way Even sometimes watched him when no one else was looking. 

He’d told himself that he was imagining things. That once again, his mind was playing tricks on him, trying to lure him into another trap where he’d betray a friend and beat himself up over it for years afterwards.

And then, during spring in second grade – Even’s last semester – Even and Sonja had broken up. For a few days, Isak had let himself hope. Had let himself pretend that this was the kind of world where Even would like him back. Where he might be allowed to get what he wanted.

Until Even had received his acceptance letter from the photography school in New York he’d applied to.

And that should have been that.

He should never have let himself get carried away that last night, at Even’s goodbye party, and thrown himself at him. 

Maybe he would have forgotten about him if he hadn’t.

And maybe, if Even hadn’t left the next morning for his flight without waking him, without saying goodbye or even leaving a simple note, he’d been able to leave all of it behind. 

If he’d gotten some kind of… closure.

Or, if Even had kept in touch with him after he’d left. If he’d just messaged or called Isak only _ once _ during all these years, then perhaps it wouldn’t have felt as dramatic.

It’s not like Isak’s thought about him all the time since he left. He’s been okay. Really.

But this – this isn’t normal. It’s not like every other guy he’s ever hooked up with makes his mouth dry up and his insides float around like jelly.

He glances to the side once more and exhales when he sees Even’s face turned away from him, his shoulders squared in the black jacket. 

And then, Even puts his hand on Noora’s arm, laid out on the table in front of him. 

Isak feels his stomach turn as she throws her head back in a laugh, red lipstick shining. And the fond look she gives Even as her laughter dies down does nothing to subdue his queasiness. 

_ Of fucking course. _

He throws Eva a quick look, but she’s luckily shielded from view by the people next to her, busy laughing at something Håvard says.

When he returns his gaze to the other end of the table, Even has already taken his hand away, but it doesn’t matter. 

Maybe it’s just as well. 

Now at least he knows where to direct his focus: on getting out of here alive, and then put this behind him.

Once again.

* * *

When they’ve finished their desserts and Håvard stands up to thank the guests, he starts wondering if there’s any way that he can get out of here without talking to Even at all.

The thing is, if he does, it’s gonna look like he’s bothered by this situation.

As if there’s something here to acknowledge, to be awkward about, to apologize for.

Which there isn’t.

On the other hand, he has no idea how to do this.

He still hasn’t decided when Håvard finishes his thank you-speech with announcing that everyone is welcome to drinks in the library (yes, the _ library) _.

He bites his lip, and with a quick look at Eva, he stands up with everyone else. Then, he tiptoes away behind Håvard’s back, and out the back door to the porch.

The pool shimmers turquoise and green, illuminating the white house side like an aurora. He sneaks along the wall and around the corner, leans against the wall and breathes. In, out, and in again, but his head is still spinning. 

It’s not the beer he downed while waiting in Eva’s hallway that does it, or the three glasses of wine he had during dinner. Nor is it the tie, way too tight around his throat no matter how much he loosens it.

This was going to be a favour from his side. A pity date, or perhaps a rescue mission.

And now _ he’s _the one who’s snuck away and left Eva alone inside, the knot in his stomach marinated in guilt. 

“This must be the worst date ever,” he announces to the apple tree in front of him, and he almost wants to laugh. Standing here, drunk and miserable, talking to himself because of a failed teenage romance from more than ten years ago. 

Like in one of the stupidest of Eva’s rom-coms. 

When he hears the sound of steps approaching from around the corner he knows it’s her without having to look. She’ll know exactly when and where to find him.

Except that her heels would make a much more distinct sound, and –

_ Fuck. _

“Is it?” 

Even’s voice is every bit as deep as he remembers it. Almost as if he could feel how it’d vibrate through his chest if they’d be close enough.

He opens his eyes and tries to remain upright. “Hi, Even.” 

“I – I’m sorry if I’m disturbing you – but I thought I might find you here.”

Right. He’d forgotten. 

If there’s ever been anyone besides Eva who could read his mind, subconsciously shortcutting to what he needs or wants, it’s Even.

Always Even. Who knew when to silently ask him if he wanted to get out of a party when it got too much, always pulled a stupid joke when someone asked questions too prying for Isak’s taste, or dragged him out to smoke when Isak needed to get out of his head.

He shakes his head. “It’s – it’s okay.”

How is he supposed to tell Even that it was _ him _ he needed to get away from this time?

“It’s… good to see you,” Even tries, looking down at his shoes. “It’s been a while.”

He huffs. “Yeah.”

Every time he’s hooked up with someone post-Even, or dated them, and it hasn’t worked out, he’s not had a lot of trouble telling them so. To break it off on somewhat nice terms and move forward. Straight up.

But this? What is he supposed to say? _ It’s good to see you, too? I’m happy for you and Noora? _

Not that he hasn’t called himself a master liar in the past, but he doubts he’ll be able to pull _ that _ off.

“So you came here with Eva?” Even asks, fingering the hem of his dress jacket. “It’s – good to see that you still keep in touch.”

He huffs again, silently. “Yeah.” 

“Noora looked forward to – seeing her as well.”

He looks up at Even’s face. His features are difficult to make out in the night, the light from the pool illuminating him from behind, the shape of him as familiar as it is elusive.

“I didn’t know you and Noora – you know –”

He waves his hand in a vague gesture.

“Yeah. We – ran into each other after she’d lived in New York for a few months, and she didn’t know that many people yet, so. It was a good thing.”

“And now you’re back here together.”

Even scrapes his foot against the ground once more. “Yeah. Or – she’s been here for a few weeks, but I – I only got back this week, actually.”

He wants to shrug, act like it doesn’t mean anything that Even has only been here for a few days. 

That Even, in fact, hasn’t been back here for months without Isak knowing. That Even hasn’t walked around Oslo all this time not thinking about him, not calling or messaging him. 

When it does. 

”Really?”

“Yeah.” Even exhales, his breath a white cloud between them. “I – I had no idea you’d be here tonight, but I knew Eva would, and – I was kinda planning to ask her for your number, actually.”

“Oh.” His stomach does a weird thing where it tries to fold in on itself, and he has to shift his feet to not lose his balance. “Er – why? Or, I mean, it’s not that it would be weird or anything, but – we haven’t seen each other in ten years.”

“But I’m back now.” Even’s voice isn’t as booming anymore, more quiet, subdued. “And – I thought maybe we could. You know. Meet.”

It shouldn’t feel like this.

He shouldn’t still feel this inexplicable pull towards Even, this almost magnetic effect that he’s always has had on him. Even now, after ten fucking years, it’s still there, clawing at his insides, grabbing a silent hold of his limbs and trying to make him fall off balance. 

And he doesn’t want it. 

“I don’t know,” he says, in all honesty.

Even in the dark, he can see Even lower his chin. “I get it. I know it was – weird, that last night, and that we shouldn’t have – I shouldn’t – and that a lot has happened since then, and – yeah.”

_ Weird. _That’s one way to put it.

“Yeah.” Right at this moment, he’s almost thankful for having witnessed Even’s and Noora’s casual affection earlier. Again, it gives him a safe out. “Maybe it would be… awkward. Now you’re with Noora and all.”

“We’re not together!” Even’s eyes widen, and his voice goes up a pitch, makes him sound both incredulous and horrified. “God, no. It’s – we’re friends. Like, really close friends, but nothing like that. No.”

Suddenly, Even laughs, and part of Isak wants to laugh with him, wants to feel as relieved as Even obviously does.

He doesn’t.

“But who are you… on a date with… tonight? Not Eva?” Even adds, the whites of his eyes gleaming as he looks up.

“No! I mean – no, as in – God, no. She’s my best friend.” And then he realizes that, of course, if Even hasn’t talked to anyone else during these years, he doesn’t know. “I don’t like women. Like that. At all.”

“You don’t?” Even straightens up again.

“No. I – I never did, really.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“It’s a friend thing. Tonight. You remember Vilde? Eva was going to take her, but then she fell ill, and – yeah.” 

Even’s eyes widen in the dark. “They’re dating?”

This time, the laughter spilling out of Isak feels completely honest. “God, no. Vilde would drive Eva crazy.”

Even laughs again. “Yeah. I can imagine.”

It falls silent for a moment, the only sounds the faint murmur of traffic below and the occasional wind rustling in the leaves of the fruit trees.

And then, _ there _it is. The familiar click-click of heels approaching quickly from behind Even.

Eva stops abruptly when she catches sight of Isak and Even, eyes darting between them before she straightens up with a smile. “There you are!”

“Yeah,” both Isak and Even say, at exactly the same time, and Isak would laugh if he didn’t feel so awkward.

And perhaps, a tiny bit disappointed about the disturbance.

He pushes it down.

“Drinks in the library?” Eva says with a tilt of her head, body already turned halfway towards where she came from.

He hears the slight upturn of her voice at the end of the sentence. Recognizes the question in there, the possible out she’s giving him.

He considers it for a moment. On one hand, he could stand here talking to Even all night. Maybe sit down by the pool together with him. See how sharp his jawline would look in the greenish light.

On the other, he’s not sure how much longer he can stand feeling this… off-balance, suspended somewhere above the ground, not sure what to do or say.

His hands feel numb as he looks up at Even. Watches him bite his lip, his gaze boring into Isak’s, waiting.

The sound of his heartbeat must almost reverberate out through his rib cage, so quick that it’s almost painful, drying up his throat and tightening his chest.

And suddenly, he can’t stand it any longer.

“Sounds good,” he says.

And with one last glance at Even, he takes a step forward, and follows Eva inside.

ii.

There are two texts on his phone screen when he wakes up.

One from Eva, sent minutes after they’d said goodnight in Håvard’s hallway. It’s a picture, and as far as he can make out from the thumbnail it’s her and Noora, smiling at the camera. Underneath it, a red heart. _ Thank you. _

The other text is sent only ten minutes ago. 09.51. From an unknown number.  
_ I meant it. it was good seeing you last night. _

So Even had made true of his promise. How else would he have gotten his number, if not through Eva? 

A pang of bad conscience runs through him as he stares at the message.

He’d claimed he wasn’t eighteen anymore, but that apparently only went as far as until he’d downed two cocktails in the library.

At least he’d been composed enough to not go talk to Even in that state. 

Either he’d say something he’d want to take back immediately – or he wouldn’t have been able to resist and pulled Even into an empty bedroom before he could think better of it.

And _ that _would have been a bad idea, to say the least. He’s already been there once – and what good did it do him?

He’d been very close to act like a drunk, pathetic teenager not able to handle his feelings, and sneak out without a word. Hell, he’d even planned to time it with Even going to the bathroom. As if he’d tried hard enough he’d be able to imagine that he’d do Even a favour with it, save him from having to deal with this whole mess.

But even drunk Isak had been able to recognize that _ that _ would have made the mess an even bigger one.

So he’d come up with an excuse of working early the next day and excused himself politely. He’d even managed to look Even in the eye and shake his hand, even if he felt like throwing up the whole time.

He prefers not to think about the part surprised, part confused look in Even’s eyes as he did.

Luckily, Eva had hovered by his side until he’d walked out the door and into the taxi, sparing him from more alone time with Even.

That doesn’t mean he’ll be able to avoid him forever. 

Obviously.

He hovers his thumb over the messages, back and forth, and ends up opening the one from last night.

Eva and Noora both smile at the camera, a healthy distance between them, but Eva’s cheeks are flushed, and just like at dinner, Noora looks absolutely radiant. 

_ Thank you. _

He bites his lip. And then, he presses the call button.

“Hello?” Eva’s voice sounds drowsy on the other end. 

He rolls over on his back. “Hi.”

“Hi!” There’s a rustling of sheets on the other end, and when she speaks next her voice has a clearer ring to it. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’m okay.” He stretches the hand not holding the phone above his head, touching the wall with his fingertips. “I just woke up.”

“Yeah. Me too.” She yawns, and then, a short laugh.

He can’t help but smile on his end. “And how are you? How was last night after I left?”

Which launches Eva into a full account of every little detail regarding Noora that he could possibly ask for: she’s been here for almost a month, got tired of the competition and the constant battle for money and apartments in New York, got a job as a radio producer at NRK, has just bought a two bedroom apartment in St Hanshaugen, and is currently _ not _ in a relationship. 

Eva pronounces the last words with emphasis.

“So?” he asks.

Her huff rustles in the receiver on the other end. “What do you mean, _ so?” _

“You know what I mean.” He rolls his eyes at the ceiling.

Eva falls silent for a second, and without seeing it, he knows how she’s biting her lip. “She’s still, like, the coolest person I’ve ever met. And, I mean, you _ saw _ her. She’s – she’s _ so _ pretty, and. I don’t know.”

Another silence, and he waits.

“It’s like, when I saw her, I became that – that insecure me from first grade who saw her and just – tensed up because I’d never be as awesome as her.” She draws a breath. “And then, when we started talking, she made me feel like I – was someone she _ wanted _to talk to. That I could be interesting and likeable and… last night, it was just the same. Like – I was so nervous, and then she just… made it go away.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.” She laughs, and then gives off an exasperated sigh. “But, fuck, it’s been _ ten _ years. I mean, am I… really interested in her, or in the _ idea _ of her? You know?”

Oh. He knows.

“Yeah.”

“Like… I’ve compared everyone I’ve met for the past _ten_ _years _with her, and I know it hasn’t always seemed exactly healthy, but then, when I met her last night, it… made sense that I have? If you get what I mean.”

He bites his lip. “Yeah. I – I think I do.”

“Shit. Isak. I don’t know. I just feel that if I don’t go with this – or at least _ try _ to – I’ll regret it, and… yeah.”

He watches the ceiling, the crack running from the lamp in the middle and out to the far corner. “So... did you talk about it?”

“No!” The response is immediate. “It’s not like we have any history to begin with. Not like... you and Even, for instance.”

“We don’t have _ history.” _ He wrinkles his nose. “It’s not like we dated or anything.”

“Come on,” she says. “Don’t get smart with me.”

He sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“It was – it was just so weird,” he says, finally, when the silence has stretched a bit too long. 

“How was it. Really?” Eva’s voice is lower now, not a trace of teasing. 

He keeps his eyes on the crack in the ceiling. “I – don’t know?”

_ Horrific. Wonderful. Overwhelming. Confusing. _

“He asked about you, you know,” Eva says. 

“I figured. Since you gave him my number and all.”

“He texted you already?” Her voice goes up a notch.

“Yeah.”

“So?”

He wrinkles his nose. “What do you mean, _ so?” _

“Come on. What did he write?”

“That it was good to see me.”

“And?” 

“I don’t know. I didn’t open it yet.”

“Isak.” He doesn’t have to see her face to know that she’s rolling her eyes. 

He rolls his own back. “I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it.”

“He was quite persistent in emphasizing how single he is, and how he wanted to _ reconnect with people _since he’s been away for so long,” Eva says pointedly. “And I don’t think it was meant for me, so to speak.”

“We had sex once. _ Once.” _ He rolls over to his side. 

“Yeah. And you haven’t shut up about it since.” 

“Fuck off. That’s not true.”

“Okay. _ Emotional drunk _ you haven’t shut up about it.”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “But it’s not like it matters now. It’s been _ ten _ years. And it’s not like he’s been walking around New York thinking about me all this time.”

“Maybe not. Or maybe he has. You don’t know that.”

“Don’t try to project your pining over Noora on _ me.” _ He hoists himself up on one elbow. “He hasn’t reached out to me even once, and you know that. Besides, I don’t even know if I _ want _ to meet him.”

“What? Did he ask you out?” 

“No! Or yes. Or he said that he wanted to… meet. I don’t know what that means.”

“I think I know the answer to that,” Eva says, confidence all over her voice. 

He sighs again. 

“Eva, I… I don’t know if I can handle this,” he says, and this time, it’s the truth. “We haven’t seen each other for _ years. _ I don’t want to, like, try to date him and get... burnt again. And what if he doesn’t – like me the way I am now?”

“You haven’t changed _ that _ much since Nissen, you know,” she snorts. Then, her voice softens. “He’d like you. _ Of course _ he’d like you.”

“Maybe.” 

“I know you don’t want to put yourself up for heartbreak or whatever,” Eva says next, voice still low. “But seriously. You should have seen the way he looked at you when you left.”

He sits up. “How do you mean?”

She falls silent for a moment, and he knows, without seeing, that she’s weighing her words. Then, she exhales, her breath rustling through the phone. “The same way that you looked at him.”

* * *

After they’ve hung up, he rolls to his stomach, cheek squished against the pillow, gaze fastened on his phone on the bedside table.

He sighs, and lifts it up. Lies down on his back, and swipes open the message from Even.

_ I meant it. it was good seeing you last night. _ _  
_ _ And I meant it when I said I‘d like to meet you. let me know if you’re up for it _

11.02. How long can he hold off answering before it’s rude?

It’s not that he doesn’t _ want _ to answer. He just doesn’t know what to say.

* * *

He burns the eggs and has to start over twice, but is still nowhere near coming up with an answer when breakfast is finished and it’s past one o’clock.

When he’s showered and watched two episodes of _ Nailed it! _and it’s nearing three, he’s starting to feel slightly ill-mannered. 

_ Sure. Next week? _ He erases, re-types, erases and re-types again. _ I’m not sure if I have time right now. _

He erases it. 

After cleaning the kitchen, making the bed and letting the washing machine run a cycle, he goes for a walk. 

However, it doesn’t leave him with any more peace of mind. The leaves in Birkelunden are too yellow, Akerselva too dark and running too fast for his eyes to keep up.

He walks for another half hour, buys sushi, and goes home with a silent phone in his pocket.

After he’s eaten, it’s almost ten hours since Even messaged him.

If he was eighteen, maybe he would have ignored it. Pretended that he never got the message, a glitch in the net.

He sits on his couch, the tv dark and silent, and weighs his phone in his hands.

_ I don’t know. _

He presses send.

Most people would probably have answered right away, _ what do you mean you don’t know, _ or maybe called him up and asked him to explain himself.

This is Even, though. 

Isak sees the ‘delivered’ receipt right away, and two seconds later, ‘read’.

A grey writing bubble appears. Disappears. 

He presses down on the phone with his thumb when the screen brightness goes down, but nothing else happens.

Then, suddenly, a swooshing sound.

_ Okay. Let me know when you’ve figured it out. _

Ten more seconds.

_ Or if you just want to talk. Or something. _

His phone stays quiet for the rest of the night.

iii.

There’s nothing wrong with the guy in front of him.

Really.

He’s pretty cute – not too good-looking in that way that makes some guys self-aware and overconfident – but just cute, high cheekbones and dark short hair, brown eyes and a kind smile. He even has nice hands.

And what he’s saying is probably interesting, and smart, and Isak would most likely enjoy it. If he was at all able to listen.

Not for the first time this week, he feels like another walking cliché out of one of Eva’s romcoms. Sitting here, watching the guy’s – Andreas? – hands move as he talks, watches his mouth move. 

And all he can think about is what it would be like to sit opposite Even instead.

It’s been six days since he texted him. Six days of back and forth, deciding towards and against, of working and walking and cleaning and talking to Eva on the phone. And most of all, not sleeping.

Part of him has to admit that he, foolishly enough, had hoped for Even to text him again. That he wouldn’t have to make the decision himself.

Even _ had _ said that he wanted to meet him. Meet him, not _ date _ him. As a way of reconnecting with an old friend, maybe. 

Or not.

Perhaps it was sheer idiocy to agree to this date. It’s just – as he’d been hovering his thumb over his conversation with Even, wondering if and how he should open it up, he’d also been hovering over the Tinder app, trying to decide if he maybe should delete it.

If he should choose one path over the other, and leave all the other possible ones behind.

And then, yesterday, when he’d been in a particularly hopeless mood about the whole Even thing, he’d accepted this guy’s request.

He nods and hums at something he says to not seem completely disinterested.

Most of all, he feels sorry for the guy. He shouldn’t have to waste his time with someone like Isak. Someone who currently goes over what happened on an August night _ ten years ago _ in his head for probably the thousandth time this week.

The thing is, he _ has _ thought about that night more often ever since it happened than what’s probably healthy. But the last few days it’s been with an alarming increase in frequency. Images and memories he’s not even sure are real have started appearing at the most inconvenient times. At work. On the tram. In bed, keeping him awake until the most ungodly hours of night.

And, like, right now. As the guy grabs his beer glass and lifts it, all he can think about is what Even’s hands would look like doing it. 

How they’d looked on _ his _ body that night. What they’d felt like as they held on gently to his face, as they’d stroked over his chest, his upper arms.

How Even’s skin had felt under his own palms; the sounds he’d made as Isak had kissed his neck, they way he’d gasped as Isak moved inside him –

_ Fuck. _ This isn’t fair.

Nobody should sit like this, ignoring their date, getting all worked up from someone who isn’t even here, who he doesn’t even –

As if by godsend, his phone starts vibrating in his pocket, and his heart rate picks up another notch.

He sends a silent _ thank you _ to whatever power that made him not turn off the sound so the guy doesn’t think he’s faking it as he stands, and with an apologetic smile, picks up without looking at the screen.

“Hello?” He starts walking towards the bathroom. 

“Do you need to be rescued yet?” Eva’s voice is bright on the other end, upbeat music in the background.

He doesn’t know if he should sigh, or if he should try to hug her through the phone. “Yeah.”

“Do you want to come over? Or should we go out?”

He casts a glance towards the guy, sees him lean back in his chair and pick up his own phone.

No, he isn’t Even, and no one else will ever be. 

And he still hasn’t been able to decide if he dares to act on it.

If he’d been eighteen still, he might have fooled himself into thinking that getting properly drunk together with Eva and talk things through without his usual filter could sort it all out for him.

Those kinds of excuses don’t really work anymore.

But he could really, _ really _use a break from the thoughts churning in his head. If only for a few hours.

“The latter.” He keeps his voice down.

The clatter of Eva’s heels is sharp against the creaking floorboards of her hallway. “Ten minutes. London?”

“Yeah. See you there.” 

He hangs up.

* * *

Maybe he should have some sort of bad conscience for the guy he just ditched with a half-assed excuse of a family emergency_ , _but it evaporates as soon as he sees Eva coming towards him on the street, her auburn hair matching her fake fur and her lips shining bright red.

He doesn’t comment on the choice of colour, even if it looks suspiciously familiar. But it does remind him of something.

“Weren’t you gonna meet Noora tonight?” 

Eva shrugs. “She’s at some concert now, but she said she’d maybe call later.”

“You seem very relaxed about it.” 

“I’m not.” Her arm sneaks in through his, before she gives off a short, breathless laugh. “How was your date?”

“Meaningless. He was okay, but…” He bites his lip.

“He wasn’t Even?” Eva’s eyebrows are far too high up for his liking.

He shoots her a warning glance. “Shut up. Of course he wasn’t.”

“Mm.” She looks down at the pavement, before she redirects her gaze to his, a determined look on her face. “Let’s get inside. We need a drink.”

Smiling in agreement, he nods. “Or two.”

He keeps his phone in his jeans pocket, set to vibrate and with the volume turned up.

+1 

The first thing he notices when he wakes up is that his head hurts, that his mouth feels like a desert, and that everything’s sweaty and too hot. 

Apparently, he’s been sleeping in both boxers and a t-shirt, and the fabric clings to his skin as he throws the duvet off, head pounding with the movement. 

He must have been too tired to undress when he got home last night.

How _ did _ he get home?

_ Fuck. _

Fragments of the pub, walking to a club, loud music, beers. Eva placing a tray of _ shots _ between them on the table, and – Jesus – did he _ dance? _

Suddenly, an image comes to mind: Eva in her black dress on the dance floor, coal-black eyeliner framing her glittering eyes as she smiled at him over somebody’s shoulder, a curtain of shiny blond hair –

_ Shit. Noora. _He needs to see if Eva has texted him.

He turns towards the bedside table for his phone, only to see a glass of water and two painkillers on the bedside table. 

Funny. He has no recollection of placing them there.

As he gulps down the water, tepid in the clammy room, there are more flashes. Noora hugging him, smiling. Gesturing beside her to – _ fuck. _

Fuck fuck fuck. 

He almost chokes on the last sip of water. _ Even. _

He stands up, ignoring the blaze shooting through his forehead, and heads for the bathroom. _ Shit. _

Okay. He remembers hugging Even, quickly, his drunk self at least conscious enough not to hold on for too long. He _ hopes _ that they didn’t dance, but is far from sure. 

And okay. He _ does _ remember stepping out of the club together with Even. It had been fun. Or, at least _ something _must have been really funny, because he remembers laughing and having to steady himself with a hand on Even’s arm, thinking that he might get away with it for a few seconds longer than usual, since it was due to the laughing and not a gesture of affection.

He really needs to call Eva.

06.47, his phone says, plugged into its charger on the bookshelf by the bathroom door. Guess it’ll have to wait.

Sighing, he staggers into the bathroom. As he reaches for his toothbrush, he catches sight of himself in the mirror – his eyes red and swollen, hair standing in every direction. 

The t-shirt still clings to his back, and he pulls it off and steps over to the shower, a wave of nausea shooting through him as he accidentally pokes the toothbrush too far back into his mouth.

Standing under the shower, he tries to piece together what Even and he talked about.

He really doesn’t remember. Only that they were laughing, that it was – easy. Fun. There’s no recollection of that awkwardness from the dinner, or of any fear.

Has he been beating himself up all week over whether he should meet him and talk or not, only to let it happen when he was too drunk to remember it?

_ Fuck. _He doesn’t even drink this much anymore. Ever.

Wonder how drunk Even had been. If he maybe doesn’t drink at all, just like Noora. 

If he remembers everything, or not.

It’s probably too early to text him anyway.

Sure, it can wait a few hours, but he really should send him a text. He _ needs _ to. This isn’t something he can run away from. Not anymore.

He turns the shower off, dries, and puts on a clean pair of boxers.

The air in the bedroom is stale, and he heads for the living room instead. A few more hours of sleep on the sofa, and then he can try to start sorting things out.

Except there’s already somebody lying there.

Holy shit. 

It’s Even. 

Fast asleep, back turned toward the cushions with his face against Isak, the grey fleece blanket hugging his legs and hips. 

Well. This explains the painkillers and the water, at least.

Slowly, he pads across the floor and sits down on the sofa’s chaise longue. Eva had laughed at him when he bought it_ (‘Look who’s grown up. I hope the upholstery is removable’) _but right now, he’s thankful that he did.

It allows him to sit close to Even. Allows him to hear the fabric of Even’s t-shirt rustle a little with each heavy breath, to watch the strands of hair behind his ears curl a little, dark with sweat.

The birthmarks dotting his neck look just the same as they did ten years ago. As many times as Isak watched them in secret in the school cafeteria, on a blanket in the park, on Even’s couch, he ought to know.

Ten years later, and the muscles of Even’s arms and neck are a little more defined than they were back then, his jaw just a tiny bit sharper. 

He wonders if it would still feel the same to run his hand over Even’s elbow. If the column of his neck would fit into his palm like it did when they’d kissed on that final night. 

If Even’s lips would feel just as soft against his own. 

Now that he sees Even lying here, he does have a faint memory of trying to wiggle his keys into the keyhole last night, Even laughing beside him, and helping him out of his jacket in the hallway. 

Wonder why he’s still here. 

If he was too tired to go home. If it was too late for the tram to run and he couldn't find a taxi. Or if – God forbid – something happened between them last night that they’re gonna have to talk about when Even wakes up.

He’s pretty sure he would have remembered, though.

Even seems to be deep in sleep, breathing slow and deep, and there are dark crescents under his eyes that weren’t there at last week’s dinner. 

He wants to run his finger along them, make them brighten and go away. 

Or, just as much, to lie down next to him, squeeze in behind him and burrow his nose into his neck, revel in his warmth. Make him wake up and turn around, put his lips on his and touch him. 

His throat turns dry at the thought of Even undressing _ him _ and putting his hands on him, to feel his long, slender fingers around him –

But he’s not allowed to touch Even like that. Has never been. Not really.

There’s something tearing inside his chest as he looks at him. How is it even possible to miss something that was never his?

Maybe it’s true, what Eva says. That having this, having Even, is within reach for him. That he just has to find the courage to confess to it, and dare to give him a chance. 

A pretty huge part of him wants to tell Even everything. Lay it all on the table and let him see. Let Even decide, let him tell Isak what he wants so that he can either move forward and try to forget about this, or – 

He barely dares to breathe thinking about _ what if. _

He leans his arm against the backrest, lays his head on top of it, and closes his eyes. 

* * *

The first thing he sees as he opens them again is the grey fabric of the sofa, right in front of his face. Just like when he fell asleep.

Except that he isn’t sitting up anymore. He’s lying down, and he isn’t cold despite being only in boxers – there’s a blanket wrapped around him, and a pillow under his head. 

His first thought is that Even has left.

That he’s taken care in laying him down as he slept, that he’s wrapped him in this blanket and then walked out.

Again.

He’s just about to swallow back a lump in his throat when he hears something rustle behind him. 

As he turns over, there Even is; sitting on the edge of the sofa, fully clothed, long legs stretched out in front of him under the table and a cup in his hands, watching Isak with a gaze that’s both wary and soft.

“Hi,” he says, voice hoarse from sleep, more high-pitched than intended.

“Hi there.” Even smiles, a small, tentative upturn of his lips. “How are you feeling?”

“Eh – pretty okay. I think.” His mouth’s still a bit dry, but the headache does seem to have dissipated. “Thank you for getting me home last night. You – you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” Even smiles down into his cup. “Besides, I don’t think Eva would let me live unless I’d seen you all the way to the door.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah. She was on her way to take you home but I – well, it was pretty clear that she and Noora wanted to – hang out for a bit more, so I – offered.”

“How noble.” He closes his eyes.

“I – wanted to.” There’s a soft thud as Even sets the cup down on the table. “And I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” He looks up.

Even sits with his hands folded in his lap, knees towards Isak, shoulders slumped a little forward. “I know you maybe didn’t want to talk to me when you were sober, and I – I kinda feel like an idiot for staying here without asking first, but you fell asleep and I... I didn’t want you to wake up and not knowing how you got home, or maybe think that… that something had happened between us and then freak out or something.”

He looks up at Even. At the wary look in his eyes, the way he chews his lip. 

“But – but nothing happened last night? Right?”

“No.” Even shakes his head, and raises his eyebrows with a tiny upturn of his lips. “Were you _ that _drunk?”

“No. Or – yes. Maybe.” He bites his lip, can’t help but smile back. “But – I think I would have remembered if – if it had.”

“Yeah.” The smile lingers at the corner of Even’s mouth, before he turns his gaze down to his hands again. “Me too.”

“Were _ you _that drunk?” Even if his heart is beating quickly in his throat only from having Even this close, just from talking to him, he can’t help but tease back. 

Even looks up at him, his smile a little sheepish now. “A little?”

“I mostly remember us laughing and stuff,” Isak admits. “Like – I don’t think we talked-_ talked, _right?”

“No. I don’t think so, either.” 

The small crinkles at the corners of Even’s eyes are a little deeper than they used to be, but they make his eyes sparkle just the same.

There’s an easy feeling lingering, something from yesterday, perhaps. Something familiar, a promise of some kind of future where they could be alright, even if Even only wants him as a friend. Where things could be chill. Where he can manage to be around Even without feeling like he’s going to combust any second. 

“It was fun. Right?”

“Yeah.” Even nods, before the smile falls off his face, and he bites his lip. “It was like – like it used to be.”

Suddenly, Even’s eyes are piercing into Isak’s, so intense that Isak has to look away, focus on the edge of the sofa table in front of him.

He breathes in, then out.

“I’m sorry,” Even says, hastily, “I shouldn’t have – I know that you maybe don’t want to talk about – _ that, _ and... I shouldn’t have stayed this long. I’ll – I should probably go.”

He’s halfway across the floor before Isak manages to speak.

“No – stay,” he says, just as quick, and in the same second the words are out of his mouth, he knows that he means them.

Even turns, his gaze just as intense at it was a minute ago. Isak tries his hardest not to look away this time, to show Even that he means it, even if he’s not sure how to.

All he knows is that he doesn’t want Even to leave. 

“I – I do want to talk to you,” he manages. “And – I’m sorry that I’ve left you hanging all week, but it’s just – I don’t know. I needed to think.”

“I get that.” As Even returns, he walks along the table, slowly, sitting back down on the edge of the sofa, a little closer to Isak than before. “It’s – it’s been a few years.”

“Yeah.” He inhales, bites his lip, and tries to figure out what to say next. What will keep Even here without scaring him away.

_ Sure, I’d like to hang out sometime. Wanna go out for coffee? _

Or: _ I think I’ve been kind of in love with you since I was seventeen. _

“I lied to you,” Even says, suddenly. 

He looks up, quickly, heart thudding.

“I – the reason I slept here wasn’t – it wasn’t what I said.” He watches Even draw a breath, shoulders folding in on him a little as he exhales, before he raises his chin and looks straight at Isak. “It was because I didn’t want you to wake up and think that I had left. Again.”

He rises to one elbow and watches Even, his gaze wary, almost shy, throat moving up and then down as he swallows.

“I –”

“I’m so sorry that I did back then, I – should have called you, or written to you,” Even says, quickly, almost tripping over the words. As if he’s held them in until now, and can’t stop them from pouring out now that they’ve started. “It was just that – I know we shouldn’t have – _ I _shouldn’t have given in like that, and when I left for New York I felt so bad about just leaving afterwards and – and the more time passed the harder it was to reach out to you, so I just – didn’t.”

Even’s picking at his nails now, his shoulders rising and falling as he takes a deep breath. Isak waits.

“And I – maybe I thought I’d forget all about it, but –” Even folds his hands in his lap “– I didn’t, and – when I decided to move back home again, it – I guess I kind of hoped that I’d see you again and have the chance to, I don’t know. Explain.”

After a moment’s pause, Even exhales, shrugs his shoulders, and gives off a short, tired laugh.

“I’m sorry. This probably wasn’t what you meant when you said you wanted to hang out and talk.”

Isak stares at him. At his hands, folded in his lap. His bitten lips, the hair falling over his forehead. His arms, still a little tanned from summer, the small hairs on them light and soft.

“You’ve gone around all this time – thinking like that?” 

Even casts a quick glance up at him, eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

“But – I didn’t call you either.” 

Even’s gaze flickers to the table, down to his hands, and up to Isak’s face again. “Yeah, but – I was the one who left without – saying anything. So I should maybe have been the one to, you know, reach out.”

“But you’re here now. And –” he draws a deep breath, before he swallows “– it’s okay. I – I’m not mad at you. Not at all, I mean it. I’d really like to – spend time with you.”

The rest of the words are the tip of his tongue, balancing there, waiting. _ Not like a friend. _ Maybe he should be just as fearless as Even was just a moment ago, and dare to give him an even bigger piece. He watches Even’s mouth curl into a small smile, before he slides down on the floor so that his face is level with Isak’s. Almost close enough that Isak can feel his breath on his arm, splayed out in front of him.

“It –” Even swallows, and licks his lips. “It was so weird to see you at that dinner.”

“Yeah. It – it was.” 

“It wasn’t how I figured it would go when we met again,” Even says in a low voice, “I was thinking I’d ask for your number and text you and not – I don’t know, just run into you like that. And you – you looked just like I imagined you would, but – also not.”

His heart is still beating frantically against the inside of his ribcage. _ Like I imagined. _ “You too.”

Even smiles at that, a soft upturn of his lips, cheeks suddenly a little flushed. He swallows, and thinks of the last time he saw Even before that dinner. 

Naked in his bed, the window open in the late summer night. Even’s head on his chest, his sweaty hair cool against Isak’s skin, a calm, happy smile on his face. Even’s hand, gripping his side, fingers holding on to his ribcage. Even’s lips against his collarbone, one last kiss before they fell asleep.

Even has been walking around New York thinking about him. Regretted that he left without saying goodbye. Thought about it afterwards. Maybe as he was sitting on the plane, landing at Gardermoen –

“Do you regret it?” he whispers. “What happened – before you left?”

Even’s eyes are large, closer than just seconds ago – but just as blue as Isak’s always remembered them. Even watches him carefully, before he shakes his head, and whispers back. 

“No.”

He wonders if this is where he’s supposed to be brave. Where he should take the first step and reach out, show Even that it doesn’t matter. That he’s not afraid, or angry.

But when he lifts his hand and places it around Even’s neck, it doesn’t feel like courage. It’s not in spite of anything else, not against some kind of resistance. 

It’s simply because he wants to.

He hears the sharp intake of breath from Even, feels him tense up a little under his palm. But he stays, doesn’t move or recoil. Just watches Isak, without blinking or looking away. Swallows, before he licks his lips.

The vertebrae on Even’s neck stand out like soft bumps against his hand as he fastens his grip. Closes the final distance, and pulls Even all the way in.

It shouldn’t be possible to remember the exact feel of Even’s mouth on his. Not after so many years, after only one night of kisses. But still, it’s like he does. 

As if this feeling never really left him. As if it’s been engraved in his spine, lying dormant this whole time, waiting to be revived.

As if he’s always known how soft Even’s lips are. How easily Even tilts his head to the side so that their noses touch sides, and they just _ fit. _

How, instinctively, Even opens his mouth for him, his tongue warm and welcoming against Isak’s.

He’s not sure what this is; if it’s some sort of reunion, if it’s a kiss that says _ I’ve been thinking about you, too _ or if it’s just a simple _ I want you. _ If it’s something that’s been building through all these years, or comes from only this moment.

Right now, he decides that he doesn’t care.

The only thing he wants is for Even to keep kissing him. 

Even’s hand comes up to his cheek, then down his neck and to his shoulder. His fingers are warm and soft and firm around Isak’s upper arm, and Isak pulls at the blanket with his feet, kicks it off somewhere to the floor, exposes more of himself to let Even know that he’s allowed to touch him. Everywhere.

And Even complies, cards one hand through Isak’s hair and runs the other down his side, all the way to his hip. Even’s palm is warm and calloused against his stomach, and he feels his skin rise up in goosebumps, hot and shivering at the same time as Even’s fingers skate the elastic of his boxers.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, there’s a vague disturbance lingering, a warning. As if he shouldn’t be this easy for Even. 

Maybe he shouldn’t. 

But it doesn’t matter. He can have this, he _ can, _and if there’s complications later, so be it. 

Right now, he’s gonna let himself get lost in this. Revel in the knowledge that even if it was just a one-time thing back then, Even hasn’t regretted it. Has been thinking about it, just like he has.

And if Even thought he’d slip out of here, that Isak wants him gone, he’s wrong. 

He tightens his grip around Even’s neck, feels the fabric of Even’s t-shirt scrape against his lower arm. He wants to feel the warmth of Even’s skin instead, and he grabs at the shirt with his other hand and pulls at it, upwards, the skin underneath soft against the back of his fingers. Even’s hand comes down beside his own to help him, and for a second, he has to lean back to allow Even to pull the t-shirt over his head.

Isak watches him as he does – his chest is a tad broader than he remembers it, his shoulders a little more defined, but his skin looks just as smooth as it did back then. He reaches out his hand, slides it over Even’s collarbone, flattens his palm against his chest, runs his thumb along his breast bone and across his nipple.

Even’s gaze on him is undefinable, but still so intense that Isak can nearly feel it on his skin. He watches Isak silently, bites his lip, the tip of his tongue just visible behind his sharp teeth, and his gaze flits down to Isak’s chest, his stomach, the rest of his body.

Suddenly, Even is on his way out of his jeans as well. He wiggles out of them and discards them somewhere behind him on the floor, before he shuffles back up to Isak and kneels in front of him once more. 

And then they’re back to kissing, Even’s lips more insistent this time, a more defined purpose to the way his hand grabs Isak’s side, and it makes Isak’s scalp tingle and the blood run hot down into his belly.

“Touch me,” he whispers, low and rough against Even’s mouth.

Even’s fingers squeeze his side at that, and then, they travel further down, thumb drawing a line beside his navel, making his stomach swirl in anticipation. And when Even puts his hand down inside his boxers and wraps it around him, he closes his eyes. 

Only a week ago, he would never have imagined this. Lying here, on his own couch, Even on his knees in front of him, his tongue in Isak’s mouth and his hand warm and firm around his dick, and it feels like he’s floating. Everything leans off-kilter at this moment, as if he doesn’t know what’s up and what’s down anymore. 

And it's almost as if Even can feel it – he moves the hand in Isak’s hair down to his upper back, so that he holds him, chest to chest. Isak mirrors him, clings on to Even’s shoulders with both arms and pushes his hips forward, into Even’s hand. As if his body acts of its own accord, tries to crawl all over Even and climb inside him.

“Isak,” Even breathes into his mouth, and he wants to read it like an incantation. 

Moves his hand to Even’s upper arm and feels the muscles work under his skin. _ For him. _

It’s almost happening too fast – he’s already nearing the edge, a surge building in his stomach from just Even’s hand and mouth, and he doesn’t want it to be over. Not yet.

Not that he wants Even to take his hands off him. Not at all. 

He loosens his grip on Even’s shoulders, lets go of his lips, and leans over the edge of the sofa.

“What are you doing?” Even says, voice rough and dazed. His gaze follows Isak’s arm as he reaches for the pull-out drawer underneath the chaise longue, and his eyes widen when Isak presses the bottle of lube and the pack of condoms into his hand.

Even licks his lips and looks up at him, mouth a little open. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he says, quickly, sitting up to pull off his boxers and lie down again. Puts his hand on Even’s shoulder, and runs his thumb along his collarbone. “Please.”

In just a second, Even’s lips are back on his, his palm warm and soft against his cheek, and he hopes he doesn’t have to say it again. Already feels a little raw with what he just asked for.

But for all the years he’s wondered what it would feel like, he’s not going to let this opportunity go.

So when Even runs his hand down his side again, pausing to rub his thumb over his nipple, he spreads his legs and lets his knees fall apart. Holds his breath as Even’s fingers count his ribs and dip down below his navel, the inside of his wrist ghosting against his dick as he passes it by. 

The click of the lid of the lube makes his toes curl in anticipation, and Even’s eyes are on him when the side of his hand tickles the hairs on the inside of his thigh. 

He’s finally going to get what he’s dreamed of – and it’s almost unreal, on the verge of overwhelming, so he draws a deep breath, tries to relax, and closes his eyes. 

That doesn’t mean he can’t feel Even’s gaze lingering on him as he presses his fingertips lightly against him. He knows it’s an assessment, careful and caring – but knowing that Even watches him like this almost makes him want to squirm away from the attention.

Again, he grabs a hold of Even’s hair and pulls him closer so their lips touch, tries to convey that he’s okay without having to say it. And it seems like Even gets it; he sighs, and bites at Isak’s lower lip lightly before he carefully presses the tip of his finger in.

“Like this?” Even whispers, voice hoarse and low, and Isak just nods, lifts his leg and lays it on the backrest of the sofa, opening himself up even more. 

Even’s other arm is still around his shoulders, holding him firmly, close, as he pushes the finger all the way in, and Isak moans, leans back into his grip and lets him.

For all the other times he’s slept with someone, he can’t really remember feeling this… seen.

It’s not only in the way he can feel Even’s eyes on him – but in the way Even holds him. The way he doesn’t falter as Isak leans back on his arm, but instead tightens his grip around his shoulders, as if he’s not letting go. As if he’s never gonna leave him again.

It’s in the way he moves his finger inside of him; carefully, but steady and secure, and when Isak feels another fingertip beside the first, he lifts himself towards it, welcomes it, lets Even set the pace and give it to him. 

He’s certain that’s it’s going to be just what he needs.

And when Even presses two fingers all the way in at the same time as he pushes his tongue into Isak’s mouth, he gives in completely. 

His whole body tingles with want and desire as Even keeps kissing him, slow and deep, and at the same time keeps working his fingers inside of him, curls them and makes him shiver.

It’s so good that he almost forgets what he wanted in the first place. What he asked Even to do. And maybe he could even come like this, from Even’s fingers alone – but he wants more. Wants to show Even just how much he needs him, even if he can’t put it into words.

He kisses Even, deeply, one last time, before he grabs on to Even’s hair and lifts his head up. Opens his eyes and watches him. Even’s lips, swollen and shiny, his flushed cheeks, hair falling down over his forehead. Sees Even stare down at him, gaze roaming across his face.

There's care in there, and tenderness – he wouldn't expect anything else from Even – but something else as well, something darker, raw. Something that tells him that Even is going to give him exactly what he wants.

“Do you want me to fuck you now?” Even asks, words rough with desire, and Isak nods, pulse hammering in his stomach and his chest. 

It’s everything he wants. But at the same time, he isn’t sure he can handle being under this kind of scrutiny when Even will finally be inside of him. If he’ll be able to keep from falling apart.

So, when Even slowly pulls his fingers out of him and dries them off on the t-shirt discarded on the floor, Isak hoists himself up on his elbow, before he turns around to kneel on the chaise longue, leaning his arms against the backrest. 

“Like this,” he whispers, not trusting his voice enough to speak any louder.

Still, he can’t keep from glancing at Even as he stands up beside him to pull off his briefs and let them fall to the floor. His flat stomach, his narrow hips, his long, lean legs; a little more muscular and toned than Isak remembers them. His dick, long and hard, and Isak has to swallow, draw a breath and avert his gaze down to his arms.

Even doesn’t say anything, just runs his hand over Isak’s back, his spine, down over his ass and the back of his thighs. Kisses his shoulder, before he climbs up behind him.

Isak lays his head down on his arms and listens to Even fiddle with the wrapper of the condom behind him, Even’s knees touching his calves, his lips placing a swift kiss on the column of his neck. 

He closes his eyes as he feels both of Even’s hands slide up the outside of his thighs, along his sides, up, then down, before they land on his hips, and then, Even starts to press inside.

It’s been a little while since he’s had someone inside of him, but he can’t remember when it last felt this _ much _. 

Maybe it’s the anticipation, the tension that’s been building between them ever since they saw each other at that dinner. Maybe it’s all the years spent imagining what this would feel like – but it’s never felt like this. As if the pressure of Even inside of him sets him right, fills him up in all the right places and just fits.

He exhales against his own arm, his breath first warm, then cool on his skin, and Even’s hand is there on his shoulder blade, soft and caressing. 

“Are you okay?” he whispers.

Isak bites his lip, and nods. _ Okay _ doesn’t entail a hundredth of all the things he’s feeling right now, but he knows what Even means. “Yes.”

He tries to relax, reaches one hand behind him and finds Even’s thigh. Grips on to it with his fingers and holds it, lets Even know that he doesn’t want him to go anywhere. Pulls at his leg, draws him closer, lets him sink fully inside. 

Sighs, and squeezes his fingers on Even’s skin, before he lets go and lays his arm up on the backrest underneath his head once more. Swallows, and braces himself for when Even starts to move.

But Even doesn’t. 

Instead, he leans forward so that his upper body blankets all of Isak’s back, arms coming up around his chest, holding him, pushing a little further inside with the movement. Turns his head to the side and rests his cheek against the back of Isak’s neck, and Isak can hear him draw a deep breath, can feel his stomach expand against the small of his back as he does.

Feels Even kiss the ridge of his shoulder blade, and hold Isak even tighter. Hears him swallow, as if he wants to say something, but doesn't. 

It’s silent for a beat, Even’s breath warm at the nape of his neck, the tip of his nose gentle against Isak’s hairline, and Even is all around him, surrounding him and filling him up, soft and hard and everything in between. And all the things unsaid, all of this intimacy begins to make his throat constrict and a restlessness to start building in his stomach.

“Even,” he whispers, and lifts his head. Hopes he doesn’t have to say it this time either, that Even will understand and give him what he wants.

Even’s lips press down softly in the junction of his neck and his shoulder, before he lets go of his chest, and moves his hands to Isak’s hips instead. 

Isak grabs on to the back of the sofa, and closes his eyes. Spreads his knees as much as the sofa allows, and hears Even draw a deep breath, before he starts to move.

It’s slow at first, Even’s hands soft and tentative, running up his sides, down the flat of his back, like he’s mapping Isak out, taking all of him in with his palms when he cannot see his face.

The pressure of Even inside of him is not as overwhelming anymore, only more of that _ right _feeling, and he starts to push back against it, tenses his arms and his back. Even moves his hand down to his hip again and grips him harder, thumb pressing firmly at the end of his spine, and he catches himself thinking that he hopes it’ll bruise.

That it’ll leave a mark upon him, something that will stay.

The hand not on his hip comes up to grip his side, and then his shoulder, and he eases into it. Feels the warmth radiating through his skin from Even’s palms, bolts of pleasure up through his stomach for every time Even pulls him back against him.

Lets Even hold him like this, in both of his hands, firm, safe, and secure. 

They might as well have done this a hundred times before – it’s like Even knows exactly how to touch him for him to be able to relax and just let himself feel, despite all the doubt he’s nursed in the days leading up to this. As if they’re long-time boyfriends that just woke up on a regular Saturday morning.

That thought makes a sudden heat expand in his chest. Makes him arch his back and push back against Even, as if he could draw him even deeper inside, and he hears Even moan and tighten his grip on his hip.

He tries to spread his legs even more, wants Even closer, harder, but the sofa is too narrow, and Even seems to get it. Pauses, and puts one foot down on the floor beside him, before he leans over him, Even’s stomach sweaty and warm against his lower back.

“Like this?” Even whispers somewhere close to his ear, voice hot and breathless and low, his thumb brushing over the back of Isak’s shoulder blade, soft, waiting.

Isak can barely form words anymore, so he nods, and lifts his hand to cover Even’s fingers on his collarbone and press them together.

Even’s breaths are hot and shallow against his ear as he starts to move again, a soft kiss on his neck as he pushes even deeper inside, the contrast of it sending tingles up his spine and through his scalp.

A trickle of sweat pours out from his hairline and down his forehead, and he can feel Even’s hand start to slip on his shoulder. Right now, he’s glad he chose this position – he doesn’t want to think about how his face looks, probably red and sweaty and wrecked – but at the same time, he wishes he could see Even.

Wishes he could see what they look like, together like this, him on his knees, Even standing behind him and buried so deep inside. See the way they move together, if it looks at hot and perfect as it feels. 

He moans again at the thought, fingers gripping on to the sofa so hard that his knuckles probably start whitening, and arches his back as far as he can with Even leaning over him. 

Can feel the heat pool down in his stomach, Even’s breaths even quicker in his hair, egging him on, pulling him along, closer to the edge. And as much as it’s encompassing, it’s not enough.

He needs more.

He’s just about to try to pull himself together enough to ask Even to touch him, when Even lets go of his shoulder and puts his hand on the backrest of the couch instead, beside Isak’s own. And, almost as if Even can read his mind, he releases his hip and strokes his fingers softly along the junction of Isak’s thigh, making his stomach contract. Then, he wraps his hand around his dick. 

If his eyes weren’t already closed, he definitely wouldn’t have been able to keep them open now. It’s such a relief to finally get Even’s hand around him that he almost whimpers. 

Still, he tries to hold his hips in place and not let himself fall over the edge just yet. Wants to stay in this weightless state, inside this bubble, surrounded by Even and suspended in time. For all the time he’s longed for this, fantasized about it, he doesn’t want it to be over.

And at the same time, he knows he’s not going to be able to hold back much longer. Not with Even enveloping him in every way; their backs aligned, their arms tense beside each other, holding them up, the back of his thighs sweaty and sliding against Even’s. Even’s hand, big and firm and secure, stroking him with intent now. His dick moving inside him in short, quick jabs, sending heat up down in his groin and up in his stomach. The gentle, almost chaste kisses on his shoulders.

He can feel himself balancing on the ridge, knows that if he keeps still and doesn’t let go, he might be able to hold it off a little longer, stay here for just a short while more.

And then, Even leans even further down and places a wet, open-mouthed kiss on the side of his neck. Sighs, and gives off a low moan that vibrates through Isak’s neck, and suddenly, there’s no resistance left in him whatsoever. In a short second, it all rushes up on him; a roar in his ears, a wave sweeping him away, and he falls without having the slightest chance to hold back.

He can hear himself moan, as if the sounds are pulled out of him from somewhere outside, and he pushes himself into Even’s hand and presses back against him, over and over. He doesn’t even know what’s up or what’s down anymore, only knows that Even meets him with his hips, hard, and breathes loudly in his ear.

And when Even stops breathing and presses his forehead into Isak’s shoulder, and shudders against his back, Isak knows he’s coming too. Inside of him, because of him, with him. A sudden strike of pride and possession runs through him – this is _ his, _ and he never wants to let go.

At last, they both still, Even with his nose burrowed behind his ear, silent and unmoving. Their skin warm and sweaty, bodies aligned. Isak breathes, and bites his lip.

He doesn’t really want to turn around and face Even, doesn’t really want to acknowledge that it’s over. Isn’t sure if he should go clean up, or if he’s allowed to hold Even now. He takes a deep breath, and tries to decide what to do.

And then, Even winds his arms around his chest. Holds him close and pulls him backwards, makes him sit in his lap, still inside him, Even’s breath warm in his hair, his grip tight around Isak, even tighter than before.

Kisses his neck again, his hair, the angle of his jaw, his ear, every part of Isak that his lips can reach. 

“Isak,” Even breathes, “Isak.”

The way he says it that makes Isak’s insides tear apart and piece together at the same time. Again, he gets the feeling that there’s something more to Even's words. Something that he wants to say, but doesn't know how to. 

He puts his hands on top of Even's, embraces him, as if to convey all the things he himself can’t seem to articulate. Turns his head, and Even helps, lifts a hand to his cheek so that their lips can meet in the middle. 

The kiss that follows isn’t heated or wanting, like before. It’s deep, slow, and so soft, full of things they haven't said, but maybe will. Some time. 

His neck is getting stiff and his ass pretty uncomfortable, but he doesn't want to stop kissing Even, so he tries to turn around and make Even slip out without breaking the kiss, but ends up almost pulling Even halfway down to the floor with him, and Even laughs. Ties up the condom and drops it on the floor behind him, before he leans back and opens his arms.

“Come here,” he says, and Isak sits down in his lap again, turned towards him. Grabs the blanket and pulls it up around them, buries his nose in the junction between Even's neck and shoulder, and breathes. 

They sit like that for a minute or two, the room silent around them. Not uncomfortable, but expectant. As if they won’t be allowed to part until they’ve adressed all the things hanging in the air around them, waiting. 

“That wasn't... exactly what I expected when I went to sleep last night,” Even begins, a tentative joke in his voice, trying.

Isak laughs, short and dry, against the warm skin of his neck. 

“And I don't regret this, either,” Even says, voice lower, serious.

Isak swallows, raises his head, and looks at Even. Sees the sweaty strands of hair still clinging to his forehead. The sincerity in his eyes.

“Me neither.” It comes out like a whisper, quick and breathless.

Even licks his lips, bitten and soft, before he lowers his gaze to Isak’s chest, to the hand gripping his shoulder, and it looks like he’s thinking.

Keeps his eyes fastened on his own hand, and suddenly, it hits Isak that _ Even _ is the one who seems nervous now. 

The contrast to the surety and confidence with which Even fucked him just minutes ago couldn’t be bigger, but Isak knows. Has spent enough time with Even as a teenager to have glimpsed behind his facade, the one he used to keep up among people he didn’t know.

But somehow, it’s also the opposite of how it used to be, many years ago. Even always being the one daring to ask, to explain, to attune to Isak’s feelings and pull things he didn’t know how to say out of him.

Isak’s not the tongue-tied seventeen-year-old he once was, but this carries more weight than most things he’s said to anyone. And maybe kissing Even before was a way of telling him, without words, how he really felt, but this isn’t anything his body alone can convey. 

This time, he’s gonna have to try to be brave.

“I,” he begins. “I’ve actually been thinking about this for – for a really long time.”

Even looks up at him, his gaze searching, lips a little parted. “You have?”

“Yeah.” He lifts a hand, puts it on Even’s cheek, and bites his lip. 

Even’s eyes soften, before he opens his mouth and closes it, and Isak feels like there’s something he should remember, something Even said before. A thread hanging loose somewhere that he should have caught on to, but missed in the tension of the moment.

He picks at their conversation earlier, before they kissed. And suddenly, he knows.

“You said, before, that you… that you shouldn’t have – given in. That night. Before you left.” He traces Even’s cheekbone with his thumb, an attempt at reassurance. “What – what did you mean?”

Even looks up at him again, eyes pale in the light falling in from the window. “I’ve… I’ve been thinking about if it’s really a good idea to tell you this, but. Well.”

Isak waits, breathes, his post-orgasmic contentedness not enough to calm the nervousness in his stomach. Somehow, he has the feeling that Even is just as tense talking about this as he is.

“I,” Even says, again, and swallows. “I was… kind of in love with you back then.”

Suddenly, every hair on his body is standing up, his every nerve ending on fire, the soles of his feet prickling. He opens his mouth, wants to speak, to ask, but nothing comes out, his heart beating hard enough to obstruct the air of escaping his lungs.

“I even broke up with Sonja – I wanted to try to make a move on you for such a long time,” Even continues, his gaze flickering between Isak’s eyes, his lip bitten and red. “And I thought, sometimes, that you looked at me as if… you liked me too. But then, when finally I was about to dare, I – I got admitted to the school in New York, and I just couldn’t start something with you when I knew I was going to go away, and then, that final night, outside the party, there was just something in the way you looked at me and – I just couldn’t resist.”

Isak’s heart is racing faster than ever, his mouth dry. He has to say it, has to wipe that nervous look off Even’s face. Has to let him know he’s not alone in this. That he’s never been. 

Quickly, before Even has time to interject, he puts his hands on Even’s shoulders, and looks him in the eyes. “It wasn’t just in your head. I – I liked you too.”

Even looks down between them again, but when he lifts his head, there’s a smile playing on his lips. “You did?”

“I did.” He exhales, light-headed, chest expanding, the corners of his mouth pulling up involuntarily. “For a really long time.”

Even looks at him, the smile on his face almost incredulous, but he doesn’t say anything. Only watches Isak, as if he knows that there’s more that he wants to say. Smiles, and lifts a hand to Isak’s cheek.

“I – I was afraid it was just, maybe a one-time thing for you, that night,” Isak continues. “Fuck, it sounds really stupid now, but I thought that maybe you wanted to, I don’t know, try things out with a guy or something.”

Even raises his eyebrows, mock-stern, and Isak has to laugh, can’t resist the bubbling in his chest. 

“We’re such idiots,” Even says, teeth denting his lower lip, eyes sparkling.

Isak shakes his head. “Fuck.”

“God, I’m going to hear so much about this from Noora,” Even says, lifting his arms and folding them around Isak’s back, leaning their foreheads together.

“Really?” Isak lifts his eyebrows back at him. “Does she – does she know about – about you? And me?”

“You could say that.” Even directs his gaze down between them again, an almost bashful look on his face. “She, ehm, might have heard me obsess over you once or twice.”

“Once or twice.” The dig comes out easily, and so does the kiss he places on Even’s temple, making him look up again. “And same. Eva won’t let me live this down. _ God. _ She’s going to _ kill _me.”

Even’s tongue comes out at the point of his canine, a playful upturn of his lips.

Isak can only smile back, and rest the tip of his nose against Even’s. “I… might have talked to Eva about you too.”

“Once or twice,” Even chuckles.

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah. Or, like. I don’t know. A hundred times, maybe.”

He doesn’t miss the happy grin on Even’s face at that, or the way his eyes shine at the corners.

“I guess we’ll have to face up to them,” Even says. “Eventually.”

He laughs, quickly, and bites his lip. “Yeah.”

“But maybe we can… hang out here for a while first,” Even says, his voice softer. “I’m not gonna leave this time, you know.”

Even’s arms are firm around his back, warm and encompassing, and Isak leans his head on his shoulder, breathes in the scent of sweat and sex and a vague hint of a perfume he recognizes from years ago. It’s old, and new, yet unclear, but it holds enough promise for him to close his eyes, and let Even’s arms take the rest of his weight.

Then, he exhales, and places his lips below the angle of Even’s jaw. “Me neither.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading – I hope you liked it <3  
And come find me on [tumblr](https://www.irazor.tumblr.com)!


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